Tears of the Past
by vaudevillain king
Summary: The story of Riff and Magenta's past: their painful childhood, how they ended up as a couple, and finally with Frank on Earth.
1. Beginnings

Okay... My first official RHPS fic! Rated Teen for some violence, bad language and incest. This _is_ a Riff/Magenta fic, after all. .

**Disclaimer:** No, I don't own Rocky Horror or any of its characters. Ha...I _wish_...

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Crash. _

"Now look what you did, you dumb little shit…"

That voice, that hated voice, was slurred and infuriated…

It was happening again.

She was sitting up in her bed, staring in transfixed horror at the closed door of the room.

_Smack._

A whimper of pain.

She covered her face with the thin quilt that covered her, shaking, quite near to tears. She wished there was something she could do to make him stop

--_make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!--_

but there wasn't. She was too small, too young. Too utterly helpless to control something so much bigger than herself, something

--_someone --_

that was so very in control of her life, everything she did and said. So she just sat there, trembling and trying to quiet her sobs, listening to the horrors that occurred just beyond the door.

A new sound struck her ears, that of something being dragged across the floor. _Someone_ being dragged across the floor, closer and closer to the closed door that barred the bad things from her. A moment's silence. Then—

_Bang._

The door was flung open with a resounding crash, and the drunken, surly figure that belonged to her father stood in its place, carrying the small, limp form of her older brother by the collar of his ragged shirt. He flung the boy into the room, where he tumbled across the floor to come to a stop a few feet from the foot of her bed. She stared with wide, horrified eyes at her father, yet he paid her no mind.

"N' stay in there…" he said in a drunken growl, and he was gone with another slam of the door.

She leaped from the bed just as soon as she heard his footsteps fading away, falling to her knees on the floor beside her brother.

"Riff?"

He'd landed on his side, and tentatively, being as careful as she could so as not to hurt him any more, she turned him onto his back. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and after a moment met with hers.

"Magenta…"

He tried to smile, but it ended up as a grimace of pain. She looked down at him with a concern that he wouldn't have thought possible for a six year old.

"Can you get up, Riff?"

"I think so…"

He managed to get into a sitting position, and at the same time tried to hide the apparent pain he was in from his sister. It didn't work.

She looked at the way his pale skin was marred with bruises, how a few strands of his thin blonde hair were sticking to his cheek with dried blood. She could see that his steel gray eyes glowed with the pain and tears he was trying to hide. She thought him to be very brave, for a ten year old boy, but she was only a little girl, trying to cope with a kind of violence that she couldn't even begin to control or understand.

Practically falling forward, she buried her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arms around him tightly, forgetting for a moment his damaged skin. He flinched, but she didn't notice, and he didn't care. His sister was all that mattered. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close and ignoring the pain. As long as he kept her safe, as long as their father never, ever touched her, it would all be okay.

Slowly, he staggered to his feet, still holding her in his arms. Pain spiraled through his body, but it was tolerable; his father hadn't been too angry, or perhaps not quite drunk enough this time.

Stumbling, half carrying his sister as he went, he gently took her arms from around his neck, lowering Magenta onto her bed, and started to move back to his own, which lay across the room. A small hand on his wrist caused him to stop.

Her dark eyes still glowed with unshed tears, and her grip tightened on his arm.

"Don't go."

He sat on the edge of her bed, taking her small hand in between his own. She smiled, although her eyes were still blurred with tears. Reaching forward, he brushed one away from her cheek. Her smile didn't fade when she spoke.

"Stay here. Here with me."

Her accent- it was light, hardly audible now, although it would thicken in years to come- still made her _w_'s sound like _v_'s. He smiled, loving the way she spoke.Sighing, he lay down beside her and pulled her close. Holding one arm around her waist, he brushed a curl of her short red hair away from her face. She sighed, closing her eyes and snuggling closer to her brother's protective warmth. She fell asleep within moments.

Riff Raff looked down at her, sleeping as she leaned against his chest, reflecting on how very lucky he was to have her. Without her, his precious sister, he wouldn't have anything to live for. She was what kept him going, in spite of the social rejection he faced from day to day, and despite the frequent physical abuse from their father. The thought of her, of her smile, the way she laughed…

_--but never at me, no, not at me, not like everyone else--_

He had to keep going because of her… Because he loved her, and he needed to protect her. Because she had to be protected. From…from everything. Everything that could ever hurt her.

Like their father. The overweight, antagonistic, abusive drunkard that served as their caretaker had never tried to harm Magenta before. But that didn't mean he never would.

Riff held his sister tighter, pressing his lips to her cheek.

_I love you, Magenta._

Only in later years would it become clear to him just how much.

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Please R&R! Part 2 coming soon! Just as soon as my Beta finishes reading it over... Until then- ja ne! 


	2. Surprises

Many, many thank yous to **Silverwitch07** and**Lychee Arika and Miki** for the lovely reviews! I hope to hear from you guys again!  
Anywho... Here's chapter two!

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Things hadn't been so bad before Mother died. 

It had just been Riff and his father. His mother had died in childbirth; he'd never known her, and really, he had no wish to. His father was often drunk, but never abused Riff- not then. Not yet. He simply left the house, and wouldn't come back until early the next morning. Yet one time… One time he brought someone else with him.

Riff, only five at the time, had been sound asleep, but his father's entrance had once again woken him up. Usually, his father would simply stumble into the house, stumble down the hall, and stumble into bed, where all stumbling would cease and be replaced with his snoring. Yet this time there was another sound- laughter, pretty and high-pitched. A woman's laugh. It wasn't the first time his father brought a woman over (and the occasional man was no surprise, either), but Riff's sleep-clouded mind grappled with confusion and the want to go back to its previous occupation. The latter won over, and he soon fell back asleep.

He woke up quite early the next morning, thinking only of the fact that he was hungry; so, he roused himself enough to drag his feet down the hall and get something to eat. Having been half-asleep when he heard laughter the night before, he hardly remembered it, and therefore what he met in the kitchen came as a complete surprise.

A woman sat at the kitchen table, and didn't notice at all when he came in. Her full attention seemed to be directed at the cup of coffee in her hands, rather than the room around her or the small blonde boy who'd just entered the area. Riff's first thought was that she was very, very pretty. She had very long, frizzy orange hair and dark, sleepy eyes. Most of her legs were visible, as the hem of the plain black dress she wore reached only to just above her knee- one of the more modest of the Transsexual fashions. She was quite thin, but not grotesquely so, and pale. Then again, most Transsexuals were. The planet had three moons and only one, small sun, few daylight hours, and a rather cold climate. Of course she was pale.

Walking up to her (she still didn't notice him, and this sort of disturbed him), Riff tugged on the sleeve of her dress.

"S'cuse me, Missus lady person…"

She jumped visibly at both his touch and his voice, and Riff was surprised that she didn't spill her coffee. When she finally saw him, Riff expected her to act as others had when they met him- to be surprised, perhaps a bit offended, and mutter something along the lines of "He didn't tell me he had a son…" But what she did do surprised him even more.

She smiled.

Riff liked her immediately.

"Hello! What's your name?" she said enthusiastically.

"Riff Raff..." he mumbled, looking at her shyly from beneath a curtain of scraggly blonde hair. He smiled at the sound of her voice; she had an accent that made _what _sound like _vhat_. "You talk funny."

She laughed. "Do I?"

They didn't talk much after that, yet the early morning air remained silent in a comfortable way; she left before his father got up, and he didn't see her again for a long time after that. He soon forgot all about their early morning meeting, as small children are apt to do.

He was reminded a few months later, though.

It was late, heavy rain striking the windows and roof in a torrential current. His father was, for once, home, but this was probably only due to the poor weather. Riff stayed in his room, unable to sleep, curled up on the bed and drawing patterns on the quilt with his finger. He didn't want to leave the room, although he was wide awake and unbearably bored. His father loomed like a swaggering, foul shadow in the kitchen down the hall, and although the violence would not come until later years, Father was still frightening to Riff when he was drunk.

Riff was just managing to doze off when he heard his father, first grunt, and then call- "Git the door, boy." Sitting up and swinging his feet off the side of his bed, Riff wondered why Father didn't just get the door himself, being far closer and not half-asleep (okay, perhaps the latter wasn't true.) Then again, it was best not to argue with him.

Stumbling down the hall and through the kitchen (giving his drunken father a wide berth in doing so) to the front hall, Riff opened the door slowly. There she was- fiery red hair drenched and plastered to her scalp and pale skin, seeming almost a dark brown from the damp. She was dressed in a dark red dress (it was probably originally a bright, vibrant scarlet, yet it was, like her hair, darkened from the rain), the hem of which was so high that one could very nearly see her undergarments. She didn't look unhappy, only tired; black circles surrounding her dark eyes, mascara smeared from the wet and lipstick faded. Too preoccupied with trying to make the connection between this miserable looking wretch and the fiery, vibrant woman he'd met nearly nine months before, it took longer than would've been expected for him to notice the bulge in her midsection.

Riff stood there, frozen before the drenched, pregnant woman who stood in the doorway. He'd known what she and his father had done that night she'd first come here; of course he knew. Transsexual children, much unlike the Earthling young that Riff would later come to know, knew most of the basic facts about sexual intercourse by the time they could walk and talk. The thing was…Riff had never expected that...that…

"C-come in…"

She stepped inside, and her eyes fell on his own. She smiled now, and although it was a small smile, her eyes did light up, and Riff could finally see the pretty young woman he'd met eight and a half months before. He managed to smile back.

"Hello again, boy."

Riff was silent. She sounded just the same as before.

Moving past him slowly, she went into the kitchen where his father was sprawled in a chair. Riff followed her only with his eyes, fearful of what was to come next; he waited for the yelling to start, for the loud, resounding bang of his father's chair striking the floor as he rose up so quickly he knocked it over. Riff waited for that pretty, kind woman with the funny sounding voice and that beautiful laugh to run away, to dart past him in a wet and scarlet clad blur, never to return.

Nothing happened. Nothing like that, anyway.

Voices. Just…talking. His father's was deeply slurred yet somehow comprehensible; hers was of course higher, soft and inquiring. Riff still stood frozen when the red-haired woman came back to stand before him. She bent gingerly, only just as much as she could, one hand to her stomach as she moved. Still, she managed to come to his eye level.

"I'm going to be staying here for a while."

Silence. Slowly, Riff felt himself smile again. She did, too.

"Okay."

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Yeah, this one's a bit longer than the last chapter. I bet you can guess who the baby is! (as if I could make it more obvious). And yeah, it's completely my idea to make them half-siblings. So.. It's only half incest! Muahaha! XD

Anyway, please R&R! Chapter three will come soon enough! 


	3. Of Mother and Child

Yay! Chapter 3 is up! Many, many thanks and free pocky to all my fabulous reviewers! This is the first story I've ever gotten more than 1 review for, so thanks guys!

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A few nights later, she started to scream. 

She'd been staying in his father's room; what Riff found surprising about this was that his father now slept on the couch. He didn't know if Father actually cared about this woman or the child that lay growing within her, or if the man was simply too caught up in the constant cycle of boozing and hangovers to really care much at all. Riff strongly believed it was the latter.

When her wailing started up, high pitched and pained, coming in between ragged gasps of air, his father lay unconscious on the sofa. It was eight-thirty, and Riff had been in his room, as always, reading a book. He bolted to the door of his father's room, but he didn't dare go in. He knew what was happening. He was scared…

Eventually, her cries ceased, only to be replaced with new ones- wails that could not have belonged to the red-haired young woman, because they were too different in tone; it was nearly _squealing_. And soon, even that stopped. Riff's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment a silence ensued that seemed to echo in his head.

"You can come in now, Riff."

He jumped visibly at the sound of her voice; how had she known he'd been there? Tentatively, he opened the door and stepped inside.

She lay there, amid the soiled sheets and dust, looking for all the world like some sort of maternal goddess with a fiery halo of hair and child at her breast. Walking up to the bed slowly, her eyes following him the whole time, Riff studied the child that lay in the crook of her pale arm. The little one smiled, a toothless, pink smile of absolute and untainted glee. Only a child could look like that; only an infant could be so very pure.

"It's a girl."

He nodded. A pause.

"What's her name?"

She smiled through the exhaustion that shown in her eyes; there was happiness there, too, though, and a sort of quiet pride.

"Ah, well… What do you think her name should be?"

Both of their eyes fell again on the crooning, smiling infant in her arms.

Riff thought, studying that small face, the dark eyes that so matched her mother's.

"Magenta." He said. "You should name her Magenta."

She nodded, still smiling wearily. "Magenta it is, then."

Riff realized something just then, looking contentedly upon this woman with the baby he'd named in her arms.

He loved them.

And, in truth, these two people, each beautiful in their own right, were the first things he'd ever really, truly loved in the desperate and dirt-poor five years of his life. This woman, this angelic creature with the exotic voice and hair that circled her pale face like a halo of flames, and this child, this dark-eyed, beautiful child with the pink smile and pink name.

He loved them, and that was all his young heart needed to know.

He called the woman his mother from that day on.

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Aww, it's baby 'Genta! I know this chapter is unbearably short! Gomen nasai! More shall come soon, I promise! . 


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